


Heat

by dorothy_notgale, Kurokamui



Category: Black Lagoon
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorothy_notgale/pseuds/dorothy_notgale, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurokamui/pseuds/Kurokamui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Balalaika is a strong, powerful ex-soldier--what more could Dutch want in a woman?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penny/gifts).



The decrepit window-mounted AC unit whined pathetically as it struggled to keep the sticky heat of Roanapur at bay. It failed. The air was still warm and humid, the acrid scent of cigars and cigarettes barely disturbed.

 

The scotch Dutch had drunk created a warming sensation that was almost unpleasant in the heat. He looked down at the woman standing inches from him and asked, “What brought this on?”

 

She smirked, her teeth glinting like fangs, and undid the buttons of her jacket. Her breath smelled of vodka and cigars.

 

“Why, Dutch, don’t you know that America and Russia are allies now?”

 

At first, Dutch wasn’t sure where to put his hands. Between grenades and napalm, he’d known plenty of men who got burned bad—scars could be painful. His indecision quickly evaporated as Balalaika wrapped one of her long legs around his waist and pulled his face close to hers.

 

His calluses snagged her silk stockings. Her skin was surprisingly cool to the touch. Dutch nudged the hem of her skirt up, wondering if he could make her sweat.

 

Balalaika slid his vest off his shoulders; pink nails drew blood as his tank top followed.

 

Pressing close, Dutch unfastened her bra smoothly, one big hand playing over the delicate lace.

 

“Well done, Dutch. You’re a man of hidden talents.”

 

“I’ve had practice.” Any skill worth having was worth perfecting, after all.

 

Balalaika pulled back then, shedding bra and skirt matter-of-factly. She flipped her hair back and stood as though on display, her eyes holding a challenge.

 

Dutch inhaled deeply as he took in the sight: full, round breasts with erect pink nipples, the smooth, pale skin marked by the scars of battles long past. Battles hard-fought but made pointless by the changing times. Once so supposedly “perfect” any man would want to embrace her, now her appearance required a connoisseur to appreciate it—someone who understood the wear and tear inherent in a soldier’s life. Dutch was reminded of Roanapur then—a wrecked city of thieves and brigands, it was still the city he was happy to call home. He smiled and reached for her—she was his kind of woman in his kind of town.

 

Balalaika moved like a pouncing cat, flinging Dutch bodily onto his desk. She landed on top, a feral smirk on her expertly made-up lips. She was heavy for her size; not surprising considering her strength. A high heel dug into his left leg as she attacked his belt. Freed of the buckle, his holster fell to the desk with a thud. Normally that would disturb him, but Balalaika had no reason to want him dead right now, and would have the decency to inform him if she did. Besides, seduction wasn’t really her style. He ran one hand up her back and buried it in her long hair.

 

Her head bobbed up and down rhythmically as she worked him with her mouth. Dutch’s breath quickened but she stopped short of bringing him off, looking back with that same feral smile.

 

“Going to surrender so quickly, Dutch?”

 

He grinned—more a baring of teeth, really—and replied, “That’s not in my nature.”

 

He reached and pulled Balalaika around, repositioning her for proper access. She gasped at his abrupt penetration. Even though he was on the bottom Dutch’s movements were forceful and strong; he’d gone on the offensive. Balalaika smiled—obviously, surrender wasn’t in her nature either. She began to match the movement of his hips with her own.

 

It was not gentle. The desk shook from the violence of their joining. Dutch grasped Balalaika’s hips and she jackknifed her spine, setting the rhythm. Her breath hissed between clenched teeth as she loomed over him. She could take what he gave and give back just as much.

 

The heat and exertion finally brought a sheen of sweat to her skin; it spattered onto Dutch’s chest as she rode him.

 

Soon—very soon—she stiffened above him and cursed in Russian. He followed shortly after, pulling her as tight as possible to finish in her wet heat.

 

Yeah, she was definitely his kind of woman.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm rather shy about writing porn! *blush* Please let me know if it's any good. Or even if it's awful, really.


End file.
